Sometimes a blog post doesn’t need too many words. 14 years without making the playoffs. We finally did it. Yeah we’ll probably get swept by the Rockets. Who cares? I feel like that 105 year old man they show on TV when a team’s about to win a championship. “He sat through it all!”

I’ve been a fan of the Minnesota Timberwolves since 2002. I saw some good years, then sat through a decade and a half of BDSM with all of the bleeding and none of the enjoyment. I went to games that were so sparsely attended that even though I bought upper bowl tickets, I sat in the third row courtside and nobody stopped me. Hell, I could have played and nobody would have cared. I slogged through Rambis, Kahn, Darko, knuckle push-ups and the Cream Team. Still year in and year out I come back to this team, because I gave my heart to them. I even made a video where I couldn’t burn Kevin Love’s jersey because I loved the Pups too much.

But after last night, I will only put in as much effort as the Timberwolves do. And that currently is zero. Players and coaches change over the years, but the one thing that remains constant is the fans. And the Timberwolves fans deserve better than this. My 98 year old grandma would have tried harder and she’s not alive.

In case you didn’t know, the Los Angeles Lakers used to be the Minneapolis Lakers. Granted, this was back when it was almost all whites dudes and people still played with peach baskets and medicine balls. Shoes were worn on the court solely because exposed toes were considered too sexual. A highlight reel consisted of George Mikan scoring eight million points without ever leaving his feet. BECAUSE HE DIDN’T WANT TO.

Remember when all the kids wore their flat-footed “Vern Mikkelson” Converses? From NBAhoops.com

Still, that team belonged to us. We won five of the Lakers 16 championships in Minneapolis. You know, the land of LAKES. And then the team left. I honestly don’t know the full story because I didn’t have time to read the telegrams, but I understand it wasn’t exactly acrimonious. Think of how Seattle feels about Oklahoma City now, except with the NBA fanship roughly the size of curling.

Flash forward past civil rights and the discovery that smoking is bad during halftime to last night. The L.A. Lakers were in town to play the Minnesota Timberwolves and these SUMSOFBITCHES wore their throw-back “MPLS. Lakers” jerseys. That’s like if Seattle actually did get a team again and OKC showed up wearing a Shawn Kemp style “Supersonics” jersey to rub it in. Or if the New Orleans Pelicans played the Charlotte Hornets and wore their retro jerseys as the New Orleans Hornets, even though technically they aren’t considered a part of that franchise anymore even though they drafted people as Hornets that ended up as Pelicans. No, wait. I’m confused. THE POINT IS, IT WAS SHITTY and there are only one of two explanations for the Lakers’ rationale in doing so:

They are so egocentric as a team that they thought they were honoring us by wearing the name of our city in OUR HOUSE, even though it was ripped from our hands back when people ate lead for fun.

It was a direct “F-You!” to Timberwolves fans.

Being a Minnesotan with a passive-aggressive inferiority complex, I’m going with #2. So “F-You!” back, L.A. You have 11 championships. Those other five were won in a rollerskating rink in Minnesota when there were three teams in the league. The finals were decided by a coin toss and you don’t get to claim them unless you are intimately familiar with Hubert Humphrey or at the very least Louie Anderson.

My how the roles have flipped. Minnesota is looking like a #4 seed and the Lakers are a place that Dwight Howard’s sad sack doesn’t even want to go to, so you definitely ain’t getting LeBron. The only new big name you guys are getting is Jack Nicholson’s gastroenterologist. So suck it, Los Angeles. You snowbirds couldn’t take the cold anyway.

Next up we play the Nets in Brooklyn, a team that will never ever attempt to wear a throw-back jersey:

I thought this would feel different. I thought when the Wolves were finally in the playoff race for the first time since “Friends” got cancelled that I would be over the moon, like during KG’s return home game or when Burger King started selling Lucky Charm’s milkshakes. Instead, I feel confused, conflicted and slightly lackadaisical, like I do after three Lucky Charms milkshakes.

Canis Hoopus posted a great article about how to enjoy the Timberwolves this season. It was helpful, but I think they slightly underestimated how unfun the Wolves have been to watch this year. Technically, at 16-11, we are getting the job done. But it has been ugly and painful like a dentist who jabbed the Novocaine into your forehead, but still got your wisdom teeth out, then, for no apparent reason, made the dental technicians stay until midnight.

It’s kind of jarring to go from losing with the flash of Ricky Rubio and Zach LaVine to winning with…what? Memphis 2.0? We’re more Shit ‘N Blind than Grit ‘N Grind. We’re not particularly good at anything as a team, but our top players are just so individually good that we can fluke our way into a win if the team’s top player is out for the night. Which seems to be a trend. Either Aaron Brooks’ actual purpose on this team is to Tanya Harding everybody’s knees before the game or else nobody is scared of us, because it feels like the last superstar we played against was Isiah Thomas. The short pants one.

Here are some ideas that could help make our team fun to watch again:

Attach sleigh bells to Jeff Teague. This will serve a double purpose by not only ringing in the Holiday Spirit to the team, but alerting Jeff that he should pass the ball after 2-3 jingles instead of the whole damn song.

Allow fans to punch Cole Aldrich in the face when we are frustrated. It’s not personal. He’s already missing teeth, he never plays and he’s making a ton of money. Serve a greater purpose, Cole.

Instead of giving fans Cherry Berry when the opposing team misses two free throws in a row, give it to Thibs on the sideline and zoom in on the jumbotron until he gets brain freeze. I’m too lazy to redeem that ice cream anyway and I’ve always wanted to know what a constipated rhino looks like.

Jimmy Butler karaoke at halftime. Only Hootie songs.

Spectacular injuries. How much drama did the Gordon Hayward injury add to the Celtics year? I’m not saying any players should do this. I’m thinking assistant coach Rick Brunson could perhaps get hit in the face with Crunch’s t-shirt gun and get carted off before returning Willis Reed style. We get some much needed drama. He gets some attention and a free shirt. Win-win!

Stop losing to shit teams.

Next up we play the Philadelphia 76ers at home on Tuesday. Aaron Brooks will have the night off from wacking knees because according to my sources half the team just fell into a swimming pool and broke their pelvises.

That really feels like an AA introduction. Actually, being a Wolves fan is a lot like being an alcoholic. Years of crying, frustration, denial and blame followed by moments of clarity and giving up. Then the relapses. ‘This year’s going to be different!’ Sure it is. Just keep telling yourself that while you pee your pants at Denny’s.”

Those were the first words I ever posted on this blog over five years ago and on the surface the situation feels eerily similar. We were 5-3 at the time (we are 7-3 right now) and about to play the Golden State Warriors (we play the Dubs Wednesday). However, there is not a single Timberwolf (coaching staff or player) left from that era. The only thing still the same is owner Glen Taylor, the fans, DJ Mad Mardigan and an ensuing sense of dread that something horrible and beyond our control is going to come along and ruin everything. In 2012-13 it was Kevin Love’s stupid broken hand and the infamous, bullshit “knuckle push-ups”, which we all know was him punching someone at Augie’s because they didn’t notice he had 74 rebounds in a game we lost by 45.

This year is actually for real different, though. The ensuing dread is there, make no mistake. But this time it’s muscle memory, not the inevitable. And there is one reason and one reason alone. Not Andrew Wiggins, not Karl-Anthony Towns and not because they got rid of the pig pee troughs that made you get someone’s ocean spray on your trousers/shoes/beard.

No, the reason this year is different is because of Jimmy G. Buckets Esquire.

I won’t even go into his stats. Yes, his numbers are off the charts low this year. Sorry, your fantasy league is fucked. I don’t care. Numbers do not apply to Jimmy G.Q. Buckets. Jimmy is like a Minnesota winter day, where the thermometer says 25 degrees but we all goddamn know it’s -10 with the wind chill. Mr. Buckets is the reason your nose hairs are frozen the second you walk outside. He’s that sound the snow makes when it’s so cold it feels like you’re stepping on Styrofoam. You can’t quantify this shit.

We’ve never had a player like this since Kevin Garnett. Kevin Love was more concerned about his “Numbers”. Ricky Rubio tried so hard but ultimately was like an adorable Red Bull flugtag in a 747 race. Al Jefferson did whatever Al Jefferson did.

This feels different. I had nosebleed seats at the Target Center during the Hornets game and average Minnesotans in camouflage up there were getting excited. These people rub deer urine on themselves on purpose. It’s happening.

Thank you, Jimmy GG Allin Buckets.

Next up we play Golden State in Oakland. Maybe two of their players will get hurt and we’ll only have to go up against the other two top 15 players in the league?

I literally say this every year, but WE ARE GOING TO BE AWESOME THIS YEAR! Every time I’ve said that in the past has been a bullshit lie and I knew it. I mean, yes, I believed it at the time. Yet, deep down I knew we would never win with Alexey Shved at anything other than a “Saddest Russian” contest? Every year leading up to this I’ve just been trying to justify spending large portions of my adult life staking my happiness on 12 random men who aren’t even really from Minnesota mostly (‘sup, Tyus).

But this year is different. This year, we might actually play an NBA game in May. Has there been a Timberwolves game played in warm weather since Kanye West’s first album? Dude’s like 40 now. 90% of the league doesn’t even know we can grow deciduous trees. Anyway, we had a SUPER busy off-season and I will now grade each major move we made one by one, because I am a super qualified judge of basketball:

Minnesota trades Zach LaVine, Kris Dunn and the #7 pick to the Chicago Bulls for Jimmy Butler and the #16 pick.

A+

Zach LaVine is a slam-dunk champion who just wrecked his ACL. That’s like a masseuse whose arms fell off. Nobody wants a hook massage. Kris Dunn is horrible. Every single YouTube clip of him “breaking ankles” ends before the shot nears the rim because he shot like 2.5% from the field. I think Kris Dunn is actually a Lacrosse player who accidentally walked into the NBA draft and they picked him anyway. And the #7 pick ended up being some Finnish dude who I know next to nothing about but the Bulls chose him, so he surely sucks. We fleeced these bitches!

I made up a grade lower than F because I’m so upset. I had to take my signed, framed Ricky Rubio photo out of my office and put it in the basement earlier this summer. I knew he was going to get traded and I had to start mentally distancing myself. I’ll never change this face, Ricky! I would have “Thelma & Louise”ed right off this cliff with you!

Listen, anything that gets rid of Adreian Payne is an A+. Drop Payne, Jimmy Butler and move the team to Belarus? A+! Not only does he look 45 at 25 somehow, but his ridiculously spelled first name has way too many vowels in it. It’s like his mom was playing Scrabble when he was born and the doctor knocked the board over and she just went with it. Oh, and he sucks.

Minnesota signs Taj Gibson

B+

I like Taj. Yeah, he’s kind of past his prime and a little expensive, but so is HBO and that shit is good for at least three months out of the year.

Minnesota signs Jeff Teague

No grade

I will not acknowledge Jeff Teague as a human being until he apologies for breathing the air that Ricky would be breathing if he were here.

Minnesota signs Jamal Crawford

B-

Fuck it, why not? He’s super old and kind of like clicking on the “I’m Feeling Lucky” button on Google. What’s the worst that can happen? (Do NOT say Brandon Roy, Kevin Garnett 2.0 or Sam Cassell after the big nuts dance tore his hamstring.)

Minnesota signs Shabazz Muhammad for peanuts after he turned down a $44 million contract with us earlier in the summer.

A+

One time I got addicted to Ebay and bought an Ullr (the Nordic god of skiing and archery) pendant for $250 after getting into a bidding war with what in retrospect was surely someone in cahoots with the owner. A year later I sold it on Ebay for $5. This is how Shabazz must feel.

Minnesota signs Albert Brooks for an undisclosed amount of money. (It’s actually Aaron Brooks, but I accidentally typed Albert Brooks and I loved him in “Finding Dory” so I’m keeping it.)